Sherlock in the Park
by FireDancer 109
Summary: Sherlock in modern day London suffers from information overload during a walk through the park.


My eyes dart around from side to side. All these people walking around, talking. Why did I come here? Why did the case have to lead me here of all places and at 3 o'clock, the busiest time of the day. All these people taking their children to the park. Dull. Why must they be here now? All these stupid people with their stupid little dull, Boring lives!

"I'm sorry I had to cancel dinner, my wife wanted to see me. I'll leave her tonight, I promise." He has no intention of leaving her, she's the one who makes the money, you didn't cancel dinner, you never made reservations, you can't afford it.

"Here you go little birds." Hmmm black powder on his left sleeve visible as he reaches into the bag to grab some bird seed, clothes professional but not as expensive as they look. Low pay but needs to look smart, black powder on left sleeve, common with left handed people writing on a white board. A teacher then. No stop it! I am in charge of my brain, it is not in charge of me. I look away only to see a young family walk past. A young boy, 8 years old, small for his age, he is uncomfortable around all the other children, eyes darting back and forth, he has small bruises on his arms. Bullied then. The husband, judging by the matching wedding rings of the woman walking next to him, husband not father, the boy suffers from a rare genetic mutation in his eye, nothing serious but noticeable all the same, (perhaps why he is bullied?) the husband on the other hand does not. His hands are calloused and there is dirt underneath his fingernails although the rest of him is clean, a builder. The wife has the same mutation as the child, biological mother then, not adopted. Her hands are soft unworked her nails perfectly shaped and filed. A house wife. NO stop! I tear my eyes away from the family before I can deduce anything else, only to see an old woman sitting under a tree on the grass and I can't help myself, can't stop it... She has cancer only a few months to live at most, she came to the park to enjoy it for the last time, she'll be bedridden in a few days. You can tell by the yellow tinge her skin has, the way her hands are shaking. The boy playing on the swing is new to England from Australia; he still has his tan…. No! There are too many people, too many deductions, I can't control it, can't stop. These people have so much information, that teenagers hands are shaking, his eyes blood shot, he's on drugs, she just stole that man's wallet, that lady is planning to propose to her girlfriend, you can see the ring box in her pocket, she's nervous keeps patting it absentmindedly, checking it's still there. Ugh! There's too much, I can't think strait, my hands are shaking it's like a thunderstorm is raging in my brain, no a hurricane. Make it stop! Make it stop!

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" someone's calling me. I…. I know that voice.

"J- John?"

"Yeah it's me, are you ok?"

"How?" I don't understand why is he here? How did he know I needed help?

"Someone from your network showed up at the clinic. Said you needed help. Said it was urgent." He looks me over taking in my shaking hands and wide eyes. "Guess they were right". Ah, my homeless network, one of them must have seen me and gone to get john.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" Am I? It's easier to focus now, but that means I can feel the headache, its only small now a little twinge, but it will soon get worse.

"There's too many people." I mumble "can't turn it off."

"Can't turn what off?" I just shake my head. "Ok I can figure this out, too many people and you can't turn it off, too many people….." his face brightens in understanding "and the people caused you to make too many deductions." I slowly nod, exhausted. "Right let's get you back to Baker Street and away from people. Do you have a headache" I nod again; talking is just too hard right now. "I'll call a cab."

We start walking to the road, John half carrying me. He helps me into the back of the cab and I lean against the window. It isn't until I let myself relax that I realise how tired I am, my eyelids droop. John notices and tells me to rest, to sleep. I do, I allow myself to fall asleep, my doctor is here, he will look after me.


End file.
